


More Than Anything

by curiouscorvid (prometheanTactician)



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Makeup, Post Break-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 08:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12649782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prometheanTactician/pseuds/curiouscorvid
Summary: There was a very long silence after that. They stared at each other, something like rage behind their eyes, but they both knew that wouldn’t be the right word for it. Heartbreak was hard to classify. After about a minute and a half, Jonathan finally moved, ripping his mask from his face. His expression was pained, his eyes looking off to the side. He couldn’t face Edward head-on without his mask, without something to hide behind.





	More Than Anything

It had been days since Edward had last slept. He poured all of himself into his work in the days after he’d left, dedicating himself completely to his puzzles and deathtraps. If he was thinking about riddles, then he wasn’t thinking about Jon. If he was thinking about besting the Batman, then he wasn’t questioning whether leaving was really the right decision. It certainly didn’t feel like it was. How could the ‘right decision’ ever feel so awful?

He didn’t hear anything outside of the static in his own mind, thoughts layered over thoughts and ringing in the echochamber of his skull, muffled and useless in his sleep deprived stupor. He didn’t notice anything that was going on around him. He didn’t even react or pause in his mutterings when a deep voice spoke from the shadows behind him.

“Nygma.” The Batman growled at him, trying to intimidate. It was rather hard to do so when the target wasn’t listening. The Bat stepped forward, placed a large hand on Edward’s small shoulder. The Riddler was shaking. It was unclear if it was from exhaustion, hunger, or something else. He jumped at the contact, whipping around to face the shadow looming over him. There was a moment of terror. Then he relaxed and, surprisingly, laughed.

He was laughing, quiet and relieved, shaking his head at himself.

“Oh, Batman. It’s just you.” He sighed, running a shaking hand through the mess that was his hair. “I thought you were…” He trailed off, eyes looking at nothing, and Batman finished the thought for him.

“You thought I was the Scarecrow.” Edward didn’t nod. He didn’t have to. They both knew Batman was right. “He’s busy terrorizing the rest of Gotham.”

“Not surprised.” Edward scoffed. “Always so busy. Too busy to bother with me, certainly.” There was a deep bitterness that resonated in every aspect of his demeanor. His expression, his posture, his tone. Batman watched him carefully as he spoke.

“Something happened between you.”

“What was your first clue.” The Riddler levelled the Bat with a flat glare, utterly unimpressed. There was a moment of silence where they stared each other down, until the Riddler finally wilted under the intensity of the Bat’s gaze. “I left.” He admitted softly, looking down at some shadow on the floor.

Batman said nothing. Nygma continued.

“He… He’s so obsessed with his work. I mean, I am too, but he takes it to a whole new level and… and it always meant more to him than I did. He always loved it more than he loved me. It was all that mattered to him. He hardly noticed I was even there, I doubt he even noticed I’d left. I could drop dead and he’d be none the wiser, and I doubt he’d care much anyway.” The shaking became intense, and he took a trembling breath to steady himself, pressing a hand to his stinging eyes. His voice was thick with unshed tears as he spoke. “He wanted a warm body and someone to lean on. He didn’t really want me, and he didn’t really love me. He just told me what I wanted to hear.”

Batman listened attentively through it all, not saying anything when Edward’s shoulders began to shake. Carefully, with a gentleness Edward had never known from him, he placed his hands on Edward’s shoulders and carefully steered him away from the desk he’d been hunched over.

“Where-”

“You need to sleep.”

“Aw, is the Batman worried about the Riddler?” Edward teased weakly, but Batman’s response was immediate and left no room for argument.

“Yes.”

“Oh. Uh.” He blinked, realizing he was standing before his bed. He turned back to the Bat, a bit abashed at his behavior. “Don’t be. I’ll… be fine. He’s not the first person to let me down. I’ll bounce back.”

“I know you will, but I need you at your best.”

“I- you what?” Was he hallucinating? Had Batman just said he needed him?

“He definitely noticed you’re gone. His attacks have gotten…” Batman looked away, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Whatever Jonathan was doing had clearly disturbed the vigilante. “You need to talk to him.”

“I’m not going to go crawling back or put myself in danger just because Jonathan doesn’t know how to cope properly with his feelings.” Edward seethed.

“You say you left because he doesn’t care. Clearly, he does. You two need to communicate, Nygma. For the sake of yourselves and the rest of Gotham.”

“That-” Edward started to argue, then sighed and let his shoulders droop, defeated. “...That’s actually not bad advice.”

“You shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t. The couples therapy from the backseat of the Batmobile got Jon and I through more than a few spats.” He laughed, but it was a hollow sound. Batman pat his shoulder again, a little awkwardly, but it served to make Edward relax.

“Get some sleep. Get something to eat. When you’re lucid, we’ll go talk to Crane.”

Batman left him on his own to rest, and Edward flopped down on the bed in absolute exhaustion. He dragged a hand down his face, groaning at the absurdity of the situation.

“This is going to suck.”

 

\---------

The scene in the warehouse was one of absolute horror. The screaming had long since stopped, but the atmosphere of terror and dread still clung to the air. There was a strong smell of blood, but Scarecrow’s scythe was clean. The people had done it all to themselves. Clawed at their own skin, attacked each other and themselves, thrown themselves off of the upper platforms. In the end, everyone but the Scarecrow was dead.

There was nothing in the factory warehouse that he needed. There was no new toxin to test. He just wanted to hurt people. He thought it would help, kept thinking it would help, but it didn’t. He sat on one of the tables, long arms resting on long legs and shoulders slumped in defeat. He didn’t feel any better. What else could possibly help, if not this? His eyes were unfocused, set on a random space on the floor as he spaced out. How long had it been? Would the Bat be coming for him?

Scarecrow so hoped he would. Perhaps a proper fight was just what he needed.

He heard footsteps enter the warehouse behind him, even and unhurried, with no pause when the intruder saw the extent of the carnage. They weren’t trying to hide their presence. It wasn’t Batman. The click of the cane in time with the footfalls told Crane all he needed to know.

He didn’t move. He hated the hope that bloomed in his chest, hated the longing and the relief at simply existing in the same space as Edward again. He hated how badly he wanted to turn around and just look at him. He hated how horribly he wanted to take Edward into his arms and never let go. He hated how much he missed him.

“You’ve had quite the productive evening, I see.” Came the clear, unaffected voice from behind him. He sounded just as he ever did. Condescending, loud, mildly bored. There was a twinge of nerves hidden in the undertones of his speech. Did he think Jon would attack him?

“Not particularly.” Came the low reply from the poised gargoyle on the table.

“No?” Edward stepped closer, coming around the table to look at Jonathan. Jon didn’t look up at him. “Did they not provide the data you needed?”

“It was an old formula. There was nothing they could show me that I didn’t already know.” He could hear the frown of confusion when Edward spoke again.

“Then why-”

“Why did you leave?” Jon cut him off, finally looking up. His usually bright eyes looked so dull in the shadows of the warehouse, but they were shining with a wild desperation from behind his mask. Edward didn’t avert his eyes. He met Jon’s gaze evenly. He looked tired, Jon noted. Bags and shadows under his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping properly, and likely not eating properly.

He hated how worried that made him feel.

“How long did it take you to notice?” Why did he always answer questions with questions? Jon bit back the frustration he felt as he answered.

“I don’t know.”

“ _That’s_ why I left.” Edward informed him, a grim flatness to his tone. “You didn’t even acknowledge me half the time. You dismissed me like I was an underfoot annoyance you wanted nothing more than to be rid of. You looked at me like I was simply a bother. A hindrance.” Edward was gripping his cane tightly. Jonathan didn’t miss that tension in his posture.

Despite trying to keep his cool, Edward was very clearly upset.

“I couldn’t stay, because you could never care about me more than you cared about your toxin.”

Jon’s posture snapped from a slouch to ramrod straight, alarmed and bristling at the accusation.

“Excuse me?” The offense in his tone made Edward scowl.

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me Jonathan." He waved off the mere implication that he could be wrong about it all. "I’m not an idiot. I was nothing but a warm body for you. You didn’t really love me, you probably didn’t even like me! There was no reason for me to stay. If I did mean anything to you, which I sincerely doubt, then I clearly still meant much less to you than your work.”

There was a very long silence after that. They stared at each other, something like rage behind both of their eyes, but they both knew that wouldn’t be the right word for it. Heartbreak was hard to classify. After about a minute and a half, Jonathan finally moved, ripping his mask from his face. His expression was pained, his eyes looking off to the side. He couldn’t face Edward head-on without his mask, without something to hide behind.

“You really think that.” His voice was quiet, subdued. There was something like defeat in his demeanor, and Edward was immediately wary. Jonathan didn’t tend to respond well to defeat.

“I do.”

“You truly felt, and still feel, as though I didn’t care for you.”

Edward was getting impatient.

“To put it quite plainly, Jonathan, I could drop dead and you’d feel nothing but irritation at the inconvenience.”

“That’s not true!” The sudden spike in volume and intensity echoed in the cavernous warehouse, his eyes snapping back to Edward’s as the shorter man jumped back in surprise. “That’s not true.” He repeated, quieter, his posture slumping again as if he were crumbling in on himself. “I thought you were dead, when I realized you were gone. I thought you’d left to do something and had been killed, or had gotten into some sort of accident. I looked for you everywhere. I was frantic. I thought I’d lost you and it… Destroyed me.” He had to force the words to come out, the confession leaving a hollow hole in his chest. “Turns out I had lost you. But you were very much alive. You’d left. I fucked up and you left, and I had no one to blame but myself.”

Edward, for once, had no words. He watched Jon with wide eyes, feeling a painful glimmer of hope deep in his chest.

“You think I don’t care.” Jon repeated, shaking his head and laughing. Or was that a sob? “I don’t care… God. God, I wish I didn’t. How badly I wish I didn’t.” He put his head in his hands, his mask falling to the blood-splattered floor. “I never meant- I didn’t mean to make you feel-”

“Jon-” Edward started, stepping towards him. His hands found Jonathan’s wrists, gently prying his hands away from his face to look at him.

“We both know,” Jonathan started, cutting him off. “How it feels to be cast aside. We both know what it’s like to crave love from someone who could never care for us. I never meant to be someone who did that to you. I never meant to make you feel that way, or put you in that position.” He was whispering, voice hoarse and eyes shining. How long had it been since he’d slept?

“I care, Edward.” He confirmed with a grim certainty, a soul-deep fear in his eyes that made Edward’s stomach tie into knots. “I care for you in a way I’ve cared for no one else, in a way I didn’t think I was even capable of. I failed to put those feelings into my actions. I took you for granted.”

Edward stepped forward to stand between Jon’s legs, and wrapped his arms around him. Even seated on the desk, Jon was still taller than him. He buried his face in the Scarecrow’s shoulder, feeling him go still under his touch. A shudder ran through the God of Fear, and then long arms wrapped around Edward in return. He felt Jon press his face into his hair, and was glad he’d taken a shower before confronting him.

“Words are cheap, Jonathan.” Edward spoke softly, muffled by the scratchy fabric of Jon’s costume. “Act on those words, and I’ll come home. If you’ll have me.” Jon’s arms tightened around him, held him as close as was physically possible.

“The house is far too empty without you.” He admitted quietly. “I’ll be better. I’ll try to be better.”

“That’s all I ask.”

“...Okay, to be fair, that is absolutely not all you ask.” Edward laughed at the light joke, pulling away to look at his partner with tear-filled eyes.

“No, you’re right. I am extremely high maintenance.”

“Yes. Yes, you are.”

“But you love me anyway?” It was worded as a joke, but the honesty was in his eyes. A vulnerability that he’d likely never shake. Jonathan kissed him gently, reverently, savoring it as if he’d thought he could never have it again.

“More than anything.”

And for the first time, Edward believed him.


End file.
